Despite her usual air of confidence, Shiitake found a swarm of butterflies in her solar plexus as she and Ken pulled up outside Ken’s parents’ home. This was to be expected for a first encounter with them, she tried to tell herself as Ken squeezed her hand reassuringly. Glancing around the pristine manicured front garden, Shiitake thought that she should have left that second serving of blueberry couscous cake alone before they left. Why did she always eat more when she was nervous? As they approached the house, the front door was flung open and she filed the niggling question away to be addressed another time—as usual.
"You must be, Shiitake, dear," Ken’s mother exclaimed, ushering them inside. "You are as lovely as Ken has told us." Shiitake immediately warmed to her and filed away her instant visual diagnosis evaluation for later.
"There you go, Mrs. Smith," she told Ken’s mother handing her a bunch of flowers—carefully picked from her own organic garden at the exact phase of the moon to foster good first impressions—and a box of fair-trade, 80-percent-organic-raw-coca, unrefined-beet-sugar-sweetened chocolates. All of a sudden Shiitake realized how much she cared about Ken, which was why she had been so nervous about meeting his parents. He might still be a little wet around the ears in the macrobiotic world but Shiitake knew he was special. He had already shown her that he was kind and supportive and she could not deny that he was darn cute! Ken had only briefly mentioned his family and their recent brush with difficult times during his sister’s health challenge. Shiitake was determined to make a good impression. She had carefully selected a classic two-piece linen suit, sacrificed her recently discovered Earth shoes for a low heel, and swept her usually unruly curls into a chic French roll. Even though he loved her usual look, Ken had been most impressed by the transformation. Her own unique style and way of being was irrepressible but he could see that she had the insight to adapt to any situation. That was his Shiitake. He introduced her to his father and the rest of the family and beamed as they all took their seats at the dinner table. Initial pleasant conversation broke the ice. Then complements flowed as Mrs. Smith presented a lovely first course of miso soup that she had carefully assembled from a classic macrobiotic recipe. "I didn’t know how ‘wide’ you ate, you see, so I stuck with the basics," Mrs. Smith explained to Shiitake. "Did I get the terminology right, Kenny?" she asked more quietly. "I think that is how they explained it at the seminar…" Ken smiled and Shiitake nodded. "You got it, Mrs. S." It was when the main course arrived that Ken’s delight in how things were going turned to horror. Were those plates of steak and gravy being placed before the dinner guests? Sure there were little mounds of brown rice topped with carefully sprinkled gomashio and blanched broccoli and carrots, but how would Shiitake react to the main dish? Would she take it in her stride or give one of her infamous animal rights lectures right then and there? Ken held his breath as Shiitake raised her fork to her lips. He was incredulous. She seemed unfazed. "I love what you have done with this seitan, Mrs S." Shiitake gushed, tucking into the gluten steaks. "And what a wonderful mushroom kuzu, gravy. You are an accomplished cook!" Ken let out a sigh of relief as Mrs. Smith beamed. "I made it from scratch, dear. They taught us how at the health seminar and said it was a great transition food to help with cravings for animal foods and that it is very strengthening and ‘yangizing.’ Did I get that right, dear?" Shiitake nodded. Ken noted that she was only chewing each mouthful 50 times per bite instead of her usual 100 times because of the questions and conversation. As Mrs. Smith carefully wrote down her mushroom kuzu gravy recipe for an attentive Shiitake, Mr. Smith cracked open a bottle of chardonnay to mark the occasion. Shiitake glanced at the label and saw that it was organically grown, vegan and kosher approved. Knowing that Shiitake’s innate personality was considerably liberated in the presence of fermented beverages other than kombucha and rice vinegar, Ken was understandably concerned. He had seen her on the wrong side of uninhibited when she had splashed too much mirin into an arame and onion dish recently and he watched her put the wine glass to her lips with trepidation. He was pleasantly surprised by her reaction. Admittedly she only consumed a small amount. Maybe the seitan had been yang enough to offset the wine, he mused, remembering Shiitake’s explanation of the yin and yang of alcohol’s effects as Shiitake chatted politely with his father. There was a toast to happiness and success all around. Shiitake noted that Mrs. Smith toasted with a glass of mineral water. Ken had quietly told Shiitake earlier that his mother had gone through the Alcoholics Anonymous program several years ago and had not even relapsed during the strain of his sister’s illness. They were all very proud of her. Ken’s younger brother quizzed Shiitake about her name and got a disapproving look from his father. "Don’t pry, Max," he admonished him, "and finish your broccoli." "It’s okay," Shiitake replied. "I’m asked that all the time. Yes, it is my real name and is right there on my birth certificate. My mother discovered macrobiotics in the late 60’s and the first home remedy she tried was shiitake mushroom tea. She has some unconventional ideas so no one was surprised when she named me, Shiitake." Ken was amazed at how smoothly things were progressing. At that moment, Mrs. Smith emerged from the kitchen with dessert. "Strawberry pudding anyone?" she asked, placing bowls of it on the table. It was only after a few bites that Mrs. Smith herself started to giggle uproariously. Shiitake looked at Ken in puzzlement. Had she missed a family joke? He appeared just as bewildered. Was Mrs. Smith allergic to strawberries? What was going on? Mr. Smith had gone to the kitchen to investigate and returned with an almost empty bottle of sake. "I think this is the magic ingredient," he said. "That’s right, dear," nodded Mrs. Smith drunkenly. "That’s the sake in the amasake. I followed the directions exactly." "Are you sure that’s what they told you to do at the seminar, Mom?" asked Ken. "I am not so sure that is how you are supposed to make amasake, Mrs. Smith," Shiitake pointed out gently. Ken was worried. Would Shiitake think that his family is even more offbeat than her own and cool things off with him? He hoped she would not launch into a tirade about her liver. He knew she was in the midst of a liver cleansing program and was worried that she would be upset about having it exposed to such a concentrated hit of alcohol by his drunken mother after already having indulged in a drop of wine for social reasons. He knew that she would be thinking it had set her liver cleansing back at least an entire three-month cycle of red blood cell formation. He could just hear her ultimatum in his mind. "It’s them or me, Ken. You decide!" By now he should have known his Shiitake better. Sure, she thought about the ramifications of what she had ingested but knew she could remedy that later. Her well-trained macrobiotic mind and compassionate nature swung into action immediately. She led Ken into the kitchen. He watched in amazement as she methodically set to work making a strong cup of alkalizing ume-sho-kuzu for his mother, all the while explaining how the kuzu plant was currently being studied for reducing the effects of alcohol ingestion and even remedying alcohol addiction after a long history of traditional and medicinal use in Asia. Ken was impressed. "And I thought it was just considered a plant that was growing out of control as a weed in the United States," he said. While the mixture came to the boil Shiitake instructed Ken in preparing a hot water, salt foot bath to help bring his mother back to center. Shiitake poured the remedy into a cup, brought it into the dining room and held it to Mrs. Smith’s lips. "Don’t worry, Mrs. Smith, I am sure you are not the first to confuse sake and amasake," Shiitake reassured her. "I promise to show you how to make amasake the—err—traditional way without any alcohol. Just drink this home remedy and you won’t even have a hangover to show for it." Shiitake turned to Ken and said, "Perhaps you’d better run down to the store and pick up some rice dream pie for dessert tonight."
